


Save the Last Dance

by willowwand



Series: Little Bludger Series [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Post Hogwarts AU, Written Pre-Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 02:10:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7021699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowwand/pseuds/willowwand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though Ron hates to dance, he and Hermione always look forward to sharing the last dance together.<br/>Chronologically before "Sleeping Arrangements" in the Little Bludger Series.</p>
<p>First published on the now-defunct R/Hr (Romione) site Checkmated on June 24, 2006.<br/>This was written before the release of Deathly Hallows, therefore only follows canon through Half-Blood Prince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save the Last Dance

_But don't forget who's takin’ you home_

_And in whose arms you're gonna be_

_So darlin’ save the last dance for me_

Ron watched her dance.

 

Hermione’s soft curls were bouncing as she moved in time to the music. She’d tried to tame them, but her attempts never lasted for long. As the sultry day wore on, her hair was only getting bushier, something he loved tremendously.

 

He hated to dance and she knew this, so there were no arguments, no misunderstandings. She would dance and he would sit. He didn’t fancy making a fool of himself in front of his entire family, though he longed to have her body pressed up against him. Ron knew, however, that if he touched her now, he wouldn’t be able to stop. She was sure to argue that a wedding was hardly an appropriate place to do such things, so he waited. He rather liked watching her from a distance anyway. She looked stunning in a set of butter yellow dress robes that clung deliciously to her curves but still flowed beautifully as she moved.

 

At Hermione’s prodding, he did dance once with Ginny and once with his mum, but he practically ran from the dance floor the moment the music stopped and kept one eye on Hermione unabashedly the entire time. Despite all his complaints of the torture that was dancing, they both knew Ron would have the last dance with her.  It was always his, and he waited patiently for his turn.

 

Earlier, Hermione had danced with Harry. Ron had laughed at his expression as he struggled with where to put his hands until Hermione took pity on him and steered him around the dance floor in a way reminiscent of Parvati at the Yule Ball.  Right now, Ron watched as Viktor Krum led Hermione around the dance floor. He felt only a minor twinge of jealousy, something familiar and lingering, despite knowing her true feelings. Perhaps it was because he longed to be near her, being the one to capture her attention that brought on these feelings. But the moment Hermione caught his eye across the crowded garden, he knew there was no need for jealousy. Her love was his alone.

 

When the song ended, he lost sight of her for a moment, but then he saw her walking toward him. He stood immediately to give her his seat and handed her a goblet of cold pumpkin juice. She smiled gratefully before raising the goblet to her lips and taking a drink.

 

“Where did Vicky go?”

 

“Ron!” she warned, a half-exasperated, half-amused expression on her face.

 

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and nuzzled her neck. “Sorry, love. Old habits die hard.”

 

“Honestly, Ron!”

 

He grinned and sat down beside her, taking her small hand in his.

 

“Ginny looks beautiful today,” she mused.

 

Ron’s gaze strayed to the dance floor where Ginny and Harry were dancing slowly in the middle of the crowd. They seemed oblivious to everything and everyone around them. Ron smiled and turned back at Hermione.

 

“Yes, but the most beautiful witch in attendance is sitting right next to me.”

 

“Right,” Hermione snorted.  “I don’t know what Ginny was thinking outfitting her wedding party in yellow. I look like the sun.”

 

Ron, who had been taking a sip of butterbeer at the time, nearly choked holding back his laughter. Hermione shot him a scathing look.

 

“I’m sorry, but you don’t give a woman in her third trimester a set of yellow robes to wear,” she ranted.

 

Ron sat sideways his chair and pulled Hermione toward him, making her lean back against him. He ran his hands over the very pronounced bump of her belly.

 

“I still think you’re the most beautiful woman here,” Ron whispered into her ear.

 

She shivered though it was a very warm day. This was precisely why he knew he shouldn’t have her so close, at least in public, because he could never get enough of her. He wondered if anyone would miss them if they snuck off for a little while.

 

“N-nonsense,” she replied. “It’s Ginny’s wedding. The bride is always the most beautiful…”

 

“Let her be to everyone else then,” he said. “But you always are to me.”

 

Her cheeks turned slightly pink. “Thank you.”

 

He smiled and continued to caress her belly. “Of course, no bride compares to you at our wedding.”

 

Hermione burst into tears.

 

“Oh no,” Ron said, hugging her tightly. “What did I say? I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.”

 

She waved her hand dismissively. “It’s nothing. Hormones.”

 

Ron let out a breath of relief. Hermione had been crying a lot lately, but he was never sure if she was sad, angry, or, as in this case, happy. Everything seemed to set her off. Her temperament was as erratic as a game of Exploding Snap.

 

“So how _is_ my little Keeper?” he asked, looking fondly at her stomach.

 

“More like a Beater with the way he’s banging around in there.”

 

Ron shuddered. “Let’s hope not. The last thing we need is a son like Fred or George.”

 

Hermione laughed and Ron kissed her shoulder tenderly.

 

“Are you sure you should be dancing? The healer said you shouldn’t overexert yourself,” he said.

 

“That didn’t seem to worry you last night,” she replied brazenly.

 

His ears burned slightly and she giggled. “Besides,” she continued. “You love watching me out there.”

 

“Can’t deny that,” Ron said, kissing her neck.

 

Hermione sighed contentedly and he felt at ease. He had a beautiful wife, a baby on the way, a job he was good at, and his best mate just married his baby sister. His life was quite lovely.

 

“Oh, dear,” Hermione said, pulling him out of his reverie. “I need to use the loo. Excuse me, love.”

 

Ron released her and she struggled to get to her feet in a dignified manner. Ron knew better than to attempt to help her. The last time he had tried, she’d gone off in a rage about how she was not enfeebled just because she was pregnant and had nearly hexed him. She made her way toward the house, squeezing her way through all the people gathered around the garden at the Burrow.

 

He turned toward the center of the table and took a large swig of his butterbeer. He noticed Viktor Krum approaching from the drink table sipping casually from a goblet, and stood to greet him.

 

“Vere is Herm-own-ninny?” Viktor asked. “I thought I vos just seeing her.”

 

Ron shook his hand. “Went to the loo. Have a seat, mate.”

 

Viktor took a seat next to Ron. “It is nearly time, yes?”

 

Ron looked confused, so Viktor mimed a large belly. Ron laughed. “Yeah, mate. Any day now. Your wife must be getting pretty close as well.”

 

“Yes, vun more month. My Kasmira vanted to come but the Healers vould not let her.”

 

Ron nodded. “I’m surprised she let you come without her.”

 

“She forced me,” Viktor laughed. “She said it vould be impolite not to come to Harry’s vedding. Harry is a good man, a good friend, but I did not vant to leave her.”

 

“I know,” Ron admitted. “I would have a hard time leaving Hermione as well.”

 

“Kasmira is staying vith her mother vile I am gone. Andrik and Anichka are too much for her at times,” he explained.

 

“How old are they now?” Ron asked.

 

“Six years,” Viktor answered with a smile.

 

Viktor launched into a story about teaching his children to play Quidditch in the small clearing behind his house. Ron listened carefully for any tips he might pick up for when he taught his own son about Quidditch. That was a long way off and he knew Hermione would probably fight it when he tried, but it was something he had fantasized about doing since the day she informed him they were going to be parents.

 

“What are you two talking about?” Hermione asked slipping into her chair once again.

 

“Quidditch,” Ron replied.

 

Hermione rolled her eyes.

 

“Oi! I just asked him about his twins. Quidditch just came up in the conversation,” Ron protested.

 

Hermione nodded though she looked as though she didn’t quite believe him. She soon began to talk animatedly with Viktor about his family. Ron was almost ashamed to remember that he used to be fiercely jealous of Viktor’s adolescent flirtation with Hermione. The war had devastated the wizarding community in many eastern European countries including Bulgaria. So many had died and as a result, there were many orphaned children. Viktor had used his celebrity to start a foundation to place magical children in magical households. He and his wife, Kasmira, operated the organization and even adopted a set of 5-year-old twins, a boy and a girl.  When Harry had heard about the work the Krums were doing, he immediately donated his entire inheritance from Sirius to the cause. He had even lent his name to the foundation, though quite reluctantly.

 

Obviously, Ron had been wrong about Viktor. Even worse, he had been wrong about Hermione. He’d spent so much time being jealous of Viktor when she really wanted to be with him, Ron. It still shocked him, but he was grateful.  There was never was anyone else for him but Hermione.

 

“I wish Kasmira had been able to come,” Hermione said. “I do hope you’ll tell her we’re thinking of her.”

 

“She sends good vishes to everyvun, but you know she cannot travel in her condition,” Viktor replied.

 

“Yes, I know,” Hermione said with a touch of irritation.

 

Ron bit back a laugh. He knew Hermione was annoyed on Kasmira’s behalf, as she didn’t like being treated as though she was weak simply because she was pregnant.

 

A nice breeze cut through the air, at that moment, and the band struck up a peppy song.

 

“Vould you care to dance, Herm-own-ninny?”

 

“Oh yes,” she said standing up, casting a defiant look at Ron before he could mention overexertion again.

 

Viktor headed toward the dance floor. Hermione turned to follow him but Ron caught her by the arm.

 

 “Just don’t you forget who you’re going home with tonight, okay?” he teased.

 

She stroked his cheek. “Never.”

 

“And the last dance?” he asked, pulling her toward him and brushing his lips against hers.

 

“Yours, always yours.”


End file.
